


to come full circle

by taizi



Series: full circle [1]
Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Gen, Nishimura is a sweetheart and he is taking over my whole life, he is also a proud member of the, natsume protection squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:43:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9506846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taizi/pseuds/taizi
Summary: There’s something on Natsume’s back.Natsume doesn’t seem to notice, making his way calmly across the room. There’s -– it has emaciated, ash-gray arms wrapped around Natsume’s neck and shoulders, a dark head of long, tangled hair -–No one else sees it?No one?





	

It starts with the piece of paper Nishimura finds on the floor. He pauses right before he might have stepped on it, and stoops to pick it up instead.

It’s a pencil drawing, a circle with odd lines and symbols clustered around the edges and what looks like an open eye in the middle. There’s some notes scribbled out to one side of the drawing, and Nishimura blinks. Turns the paper over in his hands and blinks at it some more.

Kitamoto sounds long-suffering when he says, “What are you doing?”

“I found something cool. Can I keep this?”

 “No. Someone might come looking for it,” his friend says without missing a beat. “Quit just  _taking_ stuff you find.”

“Ugh, come on, I don’t do that.” Nishimura glances around for a moment, and his eyes light on the pen on Natsume’s desk. He leans over to snatch it up victoriously, and then stutters a little at the pointedly incredulous look on Kitamoto’s face. “Wha–Natsume doesn’t _care!”_

“Will you _just_ –” 

“Shh. I have to concentrate.”

The point of the pen is hard and dull as it drags across the palm of Nishimura’s hand, and each line it leaves feels sore on his skin. But it’s only the work of a minute or two, and Nishimura leans back to tuck the pen safely into Natsume’s bag when he’s finished. 

“There,” he says, holding his hand up with a flourish. “Now I have my own cool circle and I don’t need this other one.” Nishimura turns to shoot his best friend his most winning smile, and a peace sign for good measure.

Kitamoto is giving him a Look, capital L, but all he says is, “Try putting half this much effort into your homework sometime. Your grades will be five times better, and I’ll finally stop hearing about all your failed cram school conquests.”

Nishimura puts the paper on the windowsill near the spot he found it, where hopefully its owner might come across it, and forgets about the whole thing in favor of chasing Kitamoto out of the room with an outraged squawk. 

* * *

Lunch is nearly over when Natsume comes back into the classroom–he stops at the door to smile a soft goodbye at Tanuma, happy and with healthy color in his face. Nishimura leans forward on his desk, fingers curled eagerly around the diagram on his palm, and opens his mouth around the beginnings of Natsume’s name. 

But he stops, as abruptly as slamming full-speed into a brick wall. And stares. And stares some more, because there’s no way he’s seeing this right. 

There’s something on Natsume’s back. 

Natsume doesn’t seem to notice, making his way calmly across the room. There’s–it has emaciated, ash-gray arms wrapped around Natsume’s neck and shoulders, a dark head of long, tangled hair–

No one else sees it? _No one?_

Gnarled hands are so close to Natsume’s throat, dirty fingernails scraping against his collarbone, and he greets Nishimura in the same quiet way he always does, stopping beside his own desk to shove a handful of papers into his bag. 

The thing on his back turns its head, very slowly, and Nishimura doesn’t know how its seeing past all that hair, but he knows its looking at him. He _knows_ it is. And it clings to Natsume that much tighter, like algae, hair curling around Natsume’s forearms like limp bracken at the edge of a pond, and Nishimura shoots to his feet. 

His chair clatters back, and only a few people turn to look at him before turning away again because when _isn’t_ he doing weird stuff, but this is _different,_ this is _Natsume,_ and there’s _something on his back._

“Natsume, just–hold–hold still, okay?” 

How is he supposed to get rid of it? It’s staring at him again from that sightless face, chilling him straight to the bone, and Nishimura would be the _happiest ever_ if he could just cover his eyes for the rest of the school day and pretend its not there, but it–but _Natsume–_

“Get off him,” Nishimura demands and his voice comes out stronger than he thought it would. He’s weak with terror but he stands his ground; stomping down every insistent shred of self preservation and common sense in his brain urging him to back away, and glares at the dark thing hanging off his friend’s shoulders instead. His hands are shaking. “Don’t–don’t you dare hurt him. Or I’ll–I’ll–I’ll call an exorcist! Don’t even try me!”

Then he hears Natsume saying his name, in the tone of voice of someone who’s been saying his name over and over. Gentle fingers nudge Nishimura’s face gently a few inches to the left. 

Natsume’s amber eyes are stunned, deeper and darker and brighter than Nishimura has ever seen before. There’s something stark in his expression that isn’t quite wonder, and isn’t quite fear, and isn’t quite hope. 

The teacher is coming back into the room, and everyone else is settling into their seats, so Natsume takes a step back and lets him go. 

But his fingers were warm, and his voice is kind even for all its caution when he says, “It’s okay. She won’t hurt you.”

He sounds so certain, so sure, that the leaping panic in Nishimura’s chest recedes into something less painful. The thing on Natsume’s back curls in a little closer, a little tighter, tapered fingers finding firm footholds in Natsume’s uniform jacket. And Nishimura blinks at the two of them.

Nods once. Falls back into his seat with a _thump_ that hurts a little. 

Natsume turns his chair sideways before he sits down, putting the backrest toward the window. The thing on his back stays there, bunched up against his spine, as though Natsume’s body heat and heartbeat are a precious balm that soothes and soothes.

* * *

 Nishimura holds out his hand, palm up. The copied circle sits proudly between the two of them, followed by a thick, heavy silence.

Natsume, when Nishimura risks a glance at him, looks like he isn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. 

“Maybe _don’t_ draw strange symbols that you find thrown away on your body,” he finally says, with a pinch of reluctant good humor that does _wonders_ for the overall mood. Nishimura can feel his heart getting lighter with just at a peek of that recalcitrant smile on his friend’s pale face. “Or–anywhere else. Ever again. Okay?”

“Okay.” That sounds like solid advice.

“At least I can tell Taki her new diagram worked. Make sure you wash it off when you get home.”

The thing from Natsume’s back is tucked into his arms now, little more than a bundle of torn yukata and bramble-like black hair. They’re walking together, slow, the long way back to Natsume’s house, and Nishimura can’t keep his eyes off the thing for more than a few seconds at a time.

“So,” he finally says, waving his unmarked hand vaguely. “What is–” 

“Her name is Yumemi,” Natsume says. “She drowned. She’s just a little lonely. I promise she won’t hurt you.”

It takes Nishimura a moment to swallow that. Natsume doesn’t seem to mind the quiet, hefting Yumemi up in his thin, strong arms, a little closer to his heart. Nishimura watches them both, fingers curled around the ink on his hand, and starts running a mental race.

The first time he saw Natsume outside of school, walking home with Kitamoto, Natsume was running through the forest with all the desperation of someone in real danger. 

A few months later, in their classroom at the end of the day, Natsume had choked mid-word and scrambled against his throat at nothing, face flushing a dusky red as though he really couldn’t breathe–he seemed to come up off the ground, even, as though an invisible hand had yanked him off his feet.

He got hurt at the cultural fair two weeks ago, and again at the inn Tanuma’s relatives owned, and trouble seems to follow him everywhere he goes, with every step he takes. 

And maybe, Nishimura sort of always figured there was more to it than just bad luck. No one as nice as Natsume could have _that_ much karma stacked against them. Ghosts and monsters, on the other hand?

“That makes sense,” Nishimura says, realization dawning. Natsume looks at him sideways. “Sorry, I was just–thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Natsume says dryly, then abruptly looks mortified at himself. But–um, _wow?_ Nishimura grins at him, delighted. Who knew Natsume was _sarcastic_ under all that soft and sweet? Kitamoto isn’t going to _believe_ this. 

“Man, you’re really in your element right now, huh?” Nishimura says, unable to help teasing–especially when Natsume’s face turns pink. “There’s like, this whole new side to you I never knew about. A sassy alter-ego. Incredible.”

Natsume doesn’t have any hands free to hide his face, so his flush is free for the world to see, and he snaps, “How does Kitamoto put up with you?” but there’s no heat to it. Nishimura throws an arm around him, beaming, and looks down a little at where he imagines Yumemi’s eyes might be lurking beneath all that hair.

“Sorry I was mean to you earlier,” he says ruefully, trying not to think too hard about a drowned girl leeching comfort and warmth off of a kind human boy. It’s really not the time or place to start crying, _really,_ and Nishimura knows he totally will later–when he’s alone in his room ignoring his phone and his family and his homework, digesting all the wild events of this afternoon. “But not everybody’s nice to this guy, you know? Gotta look out for him when I can.”

Natsume almost trips, and maybe he would have if Nishimura didn’t have a grip on his shoulders. But he does, and his fingers fold tight into the back of Natsume’s shirt, and he holds on the whole way home. 

Yumemi looks like she understands. Her eyes, when she waves goodbye to him at Natsume’s door, are a very pretty blue. 

* * *

 “Satoru,” his mother calls up the stairs, “dinner is ready!” 

“I’ll be right down!” Nishimura yells back through his bedroom door, but he doesn’t rush. 

Slowly, painstakingly, he finishes tracing over the fading ink on his hands with a brand new ballpoint pen he bought from the convenience store before he got home. Examining his palm with a critical eye, Nishimura decides the circle looks a little better this time, the lines less shaky and the symbols more certain.

Nishimura blows on it until it dries, then pushes away from his desk and thumps down the stairs to join his family at the table.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on tumblr!
> 
> taizi.tumblr.com


End file.
